Adventures in Babysitting
by razztaztic
Summary: Random one-shots all about Max Keenan, babysitter.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: I know, I know. I do _**not **_need to start another project. I know! But what am I supposed to do when I wake up with this idea running around in my head? Let it go into the ether? I think not. So, here we are._

_This will not be a multi-chapter fic, just a place for random O/S all about Max's Adventures in Babysitting to be updated as ideas occur to me. What can I say - Max and one-shots go together like peas and carrots! Enjoy!_

_SPOILER: Baby Girl Booth's name is used. _

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><p><em>.<em>

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"Brennan." Anchoring the phone against her ear with one shoulder, she continued to thumb through the cover art suggestions her publisher had just messengered over.

"Hi, honey." Max's voice held the same smile it always did when he talked to his daughter. "I got your message - what's up?"

"Dad!" She let the illustrations fall to her desk and sat back, eyes closed in relief. "Thank you for returning my phone call so quickly. You know," she couldn't resist adding, "it would be much easier to reach you if you'd purchase a cell phone."

She could almost see him shaking his head. "Can't do that, honey. You know the government can track those things."

Her heavy sigh came through the line. "You're beginning to sound like Dr. Hodgins, Dad."

"Nah, he's just paranoid," Max disagreed. "I know exactly what the government can do. Someday I'm going to sit him down and explain just what-"

"Please don't do that, Dad," Brennan exclaimed in alarm. "It would only make him worse. Anyway," she changed the subject, "that's not why I wanted to speak with you." She paused for a moment. "I have a favor to ask of you."

"The answer is yes," Max responded.

Brennan removed the phone from her ear and stared at it for a few seconds. "I haven't told you what the favor is," she pointed out.

"You want me to babysit for Chrissy, right? The answer is yes."

Another heavy sigh reached his ears. "Why do you and Booth insist on calling her that? Her name is Christine, which is a perfectly lovely-"

"Honey?" Max interrupted. "Babysitting? Remember? Do you have time to lecture me right now?"

She glanced at her computer and took note of the time. "No, I don't. I will, however, make a point of revisiting this sub-"

"Honey?" Max just managed not to laugh out loud.

"Right." She pursed her lips in frustration. "Yes, I did call to inquire if you would be available to babysit for Christine tonight. I know it's short notice but . . . "

"You need me so you and Booth can go to Cullen's retirement dinner," Max broke in again. "No problem. I'll be at your place by 6:30. Is that good?"

"Yes," Brennan nodded even though she knew her father couldn't see her. "Angela was going to take care of her but-"

"Michael has an ear infection and is still running a fever. Yea, I know, poor kid."

"Yes, and although I know his ailment isn't contagious-" She paused abruptly. "How is it you already know all of this?" she asked suspiciously.

"You're my daughter," Max responded and once again she heard him smile. "I keep up with what's happening in your life."

A few moments of silence followed during which Brennan fought a silent, internal war with herself about the advisability of pursuing that topic further. "Never mind," she muttered, "I don't want to know."

On the other end of the phone, Max nodded as if he had heard her mental conversation. "It's really better that way, honey. So, I'll see you at 6:30, right?"

Her shoulders heaved. "Yes, that is acceptable. Thanks, Dad."

"I'm always here for you, Tempe." He clicked off with a cheery goodbye.

She was still staring at the silent phone when it vibrated in her hand and Booth's name appeared on the display.

"Brennan."

"Hey. Were you able to reach your dad?"

"Yes. I just spoke to him, actually."

"Is he available tonight? Did you explain the situation?"

She paused. "Technically, I believe he explained the situation to me."

"What?"

"Never mind. He'll agreed to be at our house at 6:30."

"What's going on?" Booth asked, his voice laced with suspicion. "Wait, do I want to know what's going on? What am I talking about," he grumbled. "It's Max. Of course I don't want to know."

"I believe that's best," Brennan agreed.

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><p><em>I love Max. I do, I do, I do.<em>


	2. Passing It On

They walked in the front door, Booth still chuckling over a joke Brennan had tried to tell that was only funny because she'd failed so spectacularly in the telling of it. He tossed his keys to the table in the foyer and stopped when he saw Max sitting on the end of the sofa staring at the stopwatch in his hand.

Brennan passed him, slipping off her jacket as she went by. "Hi, Dad." She leaned over and pressed her cheek against his. "Where are the children?" she asked as she straightened, casting a questioning glance around the quiet room.

"Zach's upstairs sleeping and Chrissy's in the garage," he said off-handedly, his eyes flicking back to the stopwatch.

"Why is she in the garage?" Booth asked, his radar beginning to hum suspiciously.

"She-"

Just then the sound of a door opening combined with running feet and a little girl's high-pitched voice reached their ears. "I did it! Time! Time!" Christine yelled. She came to a crashing stop against her grandfather's knees, ignoring her parents as she angled her head to peer at the watch. "I was faster, right? How much faster was I?"

Above their heads, Booth and Brennan exchanged narrow-eyed glances.

"Four minutes, 22 seconds," Max nodded. "Not bad. You were over five minutes last time."

"Yes!" Christine raised her hand and received a high-five.

"But you should be under two minutes," Max added, laughing when his granddaughter's face fell. He patted her shoulder and kissed her forehead. "Don't worry, slick. Just keep practicing - you'll get there."

"I'm gonna go try again right now!" she exclaimed and turned abruptly.

"Whoa there, kiddo." Reacting quickly, Booth grabbed her before she could run away again. "What are you practicing? What's going on?"

His own eyes stared up at him from a miniature version of Brennan's face. "Max taught me how to open the door without a key! I'm getting really fast, too!" She tugged at his hand. "Come on, Daddy, I'll show you!"

Max grinned broadly, his eyes dancing, when Booth stiffened and his face twisted with the same expression he always wore when Max . . . well, when Max behaved like Max. Aware of his daughter looking up at him, he managed to curve his lips into a tight smile. "I need to talk to grandpa right now, honey," he managed to grit out. "Why don't you go play for a few minutes and . . ."

"Okay, I'll go practice and you can watch me next time!" she chirped and took off.

"No, I don't want you to practice-" He spoke too late to stop her; she disappeared around the corner, long dark hair flying behind her as she ran.

Booth advanced on Max. "You . . . " he began, then stopped, took a deep breath and ran one hand over his face. "You taught my daughter how to pick a lock?" A muscle twitched in his jaw.

Max shrugged. "Just a small one. She's only five."

"You-" Brennan stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Remember what the doctor said about your blood pressure, Booth."

"He's turning our daughter into a criminal!" Booth's arm shot out as he pointed at Max. "A criminal!"

"Oh please," Max scoffed. "Tempe's not a criminal, is she?" He glanced at Brennan. "Chrissy's much faster than you were at her age, by the way."

"I'm not surprised," Brennan nodded. "Her fingers are very dexterous."

Booth was looking at her in shock. "He taught you . . . You never mentioned . . . You know how to . . "

"Not any longer," she said regretfully. "But I remember those lessons more as exercises in dexterity than anything related to criminal activity." She lifted an eyebrow and stared meaningfully at her father. "I was unaware at the time of my parents' history."

"See?" Max's smile widened. "It's an exercise in dexterity."

"No it's not!" Booth insisted. "And I don't want you teaching-"

"Time! I'm done!" Christine ran back into the room, panting. "How fast was I that time, Max? I was really fast, wasn't I?"

"Aw, honey," Max pulled a sad face. "I forgot to time you. Your dad distracted me."

"Daddy!" Small hands fisted at her waist, Christine glared at Booth. "Now I don't know how fast I was!"

"I'm sorry, honey," Booth began and then shook his head. "No, I'm not sorry. Listen, baby-"

She grabbed his hand again and pulled him with her down the hallway. "Come with me this time so you can watch. Time me, Max!" she ordered over her shoulder as she turned the corner, Booth following helplessly behind her.

"I got 'ya, slick!" Max called out. He set the watch and settled his arm around Brennan's shoulders as she sat down beside him, both of them staring at the timer.

"You know Booth finds this type of behavior infuriating, don't you?" Brennan murmured, watching the numbers change.

"Of course."

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><p><em>Of course Max knows. That's what makes it fun! <em>


	3. Star Pupil

The sun was high overhead, baking to a scalding temperature the few pieces of playground equipment unfortunate enough not to fall under the shade of the surrounding trees. The line at the refreshment stand snaked out as far as the water fountain, a fact which – given the warm drizzle the fountain managed to grudgingly produce – actually helped sales.

"They have strawberry today!" A young boy standing almost exactly in the middle of the line hopped in excitement. "It's on the sign! They have strawberry!"

His older sister grinned at him. "I told you good things happen on your birthday!"

A hint of a frown crinkled his forehead for an instant before he blinked and smiled back, his dark eyes sparkling mischievously. "It's my favorite! Happy Birthday to me!" His neck arched as he stepped to the side and continued to read. "Ewww, they have that vanilla mango you like, too. That's gross."

She sniffed audibly and tucked behind her ear a lock of dark hair that had escaped from the long, messy braid that hung down her back. "Your taste buds mature as you get older, Zach," she said with all the authority a nine-year old could muster. Behind them a young mother pushing a stroller in which twin toddlers snoozed smothered a chuckle. The little girl caught her brother's gaze.

Immediately, he hopped again. "Can I get two scoops, Chrissy? Chocolate and strawberry? Can I? Did you bring enough money?"

She laughed indulgently. "I have enough."

"What about three?" he asked, his eyes wide and innocent. "Can I get three scoops?"

"Don't push it," she responded, a note of warning in her voice.

Unabashed he grinned and continued to extol the delights of the double scoop of strawberry and chocolate ice cream he intended to enjoy. Finally, they reached the front of the line.

"I want two scoops!" Zach said to the clerk behind the window, going on tiptoe to peer over the counter. "Two scoops! One strawberry and one chocolate and I want really really big scoops! It's my birthday!"

The clerk smiled, dished out the ice cream and passed it through the window. Chrissy, meanwhile, pulled a handful of change from a pocket over the knee of her cargo shorts and began counting it carefully.

"Oh," she murmured in disappointment, looking at the sign in the window. "It costs more than I thought."

Zach was slurping at his cone, melted ice cream oozing in brown and pink streams down his chin. "Do you have enough money?" he asked, his eyes crinkling with worry. "I already licked mine!"

"That'll be $3.50," the clerk said, bending over to peer at her through the window. "Unless you want some?"

"No." She sighed loudly and added a brave smile for good measure. "I'm not having ice cream today." With a clatter, she dropped all of the change onto the metal counter and began counting it again. Out loud.

Behind her the twin's mom looked on sympathetically for a moment and then caught the clerk's attention. "I'll get their ice cream," she offered, smiling at the little girl who looked over her shoulder with a wary expression. "It's okay, honey," she added. "I heard your brother say it was his birthday so this will be my treat. Why don't you tell the man what flavor you want?"

Chrissy shook her head. "We're not supposed to take anything from strangers . . ."

"And that's very smart of you to remember that," the mother said. "But you're not taking anything from me, you're getting it from the ice cream man. I'm just giving him money." She smiled gently. "It's okay."

Bright blue eyes peeped out from a dark web of lashes as the little girl considered the offer. Finally, her freckle-dusted nose wrinkled. "I really did want ice cream today," she said shyly.

"Vanilla mango, right?" the woman laughed. "Give her a double scoop, too," she told the clerk. Chrissy was sliding the stack of coins over the counter toward the register when the woman stopped her. "You keep your money, sweetheart. I'll take care of this."

The dark head dipped. "Thank you, ma'am," she responded politely and stuck the coins back into the deep pocket.

A few minutes later, the woman watched the two children walk away, both of them happily licking away on their ice cream cones. "Cute kids," she said with a smile.

The clerk agreed and passed over the bottle of water she asked for.

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Christine looked over her shoulder once to watch the woman push the stroller in the opposite direction, headed out of the playground toward the parking lot. With a nod of her head, she indicated the benches next to the merry-go-round and led her brother over. When they neared the silver-haired man seated there, she reached in the back pocket of her shorts, withdrew the ten dollar bill he'd given her earlier and waved it triumphantly.

Max beamed with pride.

"You got double scoops?" He gave her a high five. "Way to go, slick!"

"Because it's my birthday!" Zach piped as he climbed up beside his grandfather, licking around the top of the cone.

"Ahhh, now that's called thinking on your feet," Max nodded, ruffling the boy's hair. "You can never have too many birthdays."

Christine snorted. "It was my idea," she announced as she settled on the old man's other side. "He wanted three scoops!"

Max shook his head and tsked. "Now that's just greedy, Zach, and what did I teach you about greed?"

"Greed will get you caught," Zach repeated dutifully, the tip of his nose covered with strawberry ice cream. "Can I have another birthday next Saturday?"

Max considered for a moment. "No, let's try something different next week." He held out his hand toward Christine, palm up. "Ahem?"

She looked at the money in her hand and then at him, one brow arched in an uncanny imitation of her mother. Calmly licking a swirl around her rapidly melting cone, she sat back against the bench, folded the bill and stuck it in the cargo pocket with the clinking change.

"It costs you $10 for me not to tell Dad."

Max burst out laughing. "That's my girl," he nodded, stretching his arm behind her back. "That's my girl."


	4. Lessons Learned

The roar of a powerful engine immediately caught the attention of the four people scattered around the living room. Booth looked over his shoulder toward the window.

"She's home early-"

His words were interrupted when the front door was thrown open and then almost immediately slammed shut behind the furious seventeen-year old girl who stomped inside the house.

"Christine?" Brennan stood. "What is-"

"I don't want to talk about it," she replied stiffly as she headed up the stairs.

"Wait just a minute!" Booth was now on his feet. "You aren't going anywhere, little girl." Zach and Parker looked at each other and snickered. "Where's Preston?"

She stopped on the second step. "I don't care!" she spat out. "And I don't want to talk about it!"

"Christine . . . " Booth wasn't going to cooperate with her desire to drop the subject.

She hesitated briefly. "He . . . he's still at the party," she mumbled, avoiding the gaze of both of her parents.

"I thought you were going to the movies?" Brennan asked, confused.

Booth's eyes narrowed. "What party?"

Parker elbowed Zach in the ribs, grinned and offered the younger boy the bowl of popcorn he held.

With a loud, heavy sigh Christine headed down toward her father. "Okay, look, Dad . . . you have to promise me you won't wig out. Deal?"

Booth crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his daughter. "No."

This time the breath of air she expelled caused her lips to rumble. "Fine," she rolled her eyes. "See, we were going to the movies and then Preston got a call about this party happening tonight."

"What party?" Booth demanded. "Where?"

"The Rock," Parker murmured quietly to his brother. Zach nodded as he fished for another handful of popcorn.

"The Rock," Christine admitted.

"What is the rock?" Brennan asked, coming to stand at Booth's side.

Christine tried to shrug casually. "It's a little cove, kind of, near the Potomac. It's just a place the kids hang out. Anyway," she hurried, trying to avoid any more questions about the site, "Preston got a call about the party so we decided to go there instead of the movies." She eyed her brothers' avid interest in the conversation with visible annoyance.

"So where is Preston?" Booth asked again, his voice soft as he watched her carefully.

"I don't know - he's probably still there." Christine's shoulders dropped as she realized her father wasn't going to let her get away without hearing a full explanation. "The party was getting . . . out of hand. There was drinking," she admitted with an embarrassed look at her parents, "and some of the guys were really drinking. A lot. And then," she blurted, suddenly angry, "some idiot brought out fireworks!"

Brennan cast a puzzled eye on Booth. "Are we supposed to be angry at the fireworks or the underage drinking?"

"Mom!" Christine cried, "I wasn't drinking! But Preston was, and then that moron started lighting firecrackers - well, that's guaranteed to bring the cops!" When her parents didn't respond fast enough, she rushed on. "I can't be caught at a party with underage drinking! I might lose my scholarship!" Her eyes were wide and frantic. "And then I might not get into Quantico!" she added, as if that were the only explanation she needed.

"So you left Preston at the party?" Booth clarified.

"I tried to get him to leave with me but he wouldn't," she explained. "He was drunk and rude and belligerent . . . so I just left." She pursed her lips tightly and lifted her chin. "I told him I was taking his car and I left."

The minutes stretched out as Booth considered her silently. Finally, he looked at Brennan. "I told you I didn't like that kid. You did the right thing, honey," he added to Christine. "I'm glad you're home safe." He held out his hand. "Give me the keys and I'll take Preston's car to his house . . . and have a little talk with him," he promised ominously.

Christine's jaw dropped. "Oh . . . um . . ." She glanced over Brennan's shoulder at Zach who had abruptly sat up straight and was rapidly shaking his head at her. "I don't . . . um . . ." Parker looked from Zach to Christine curiously. "I don't have the keys," she mumbled, her eyes now on the floor.

"What do you mean, you don't have the keys?" Booth asked suspiciously. "How did you start the car?"

Christine peeped up at her father. "I hot-wired it," she said squeaked.

Zach groaned audibly, closed his eyes and slid into a scrunch on the sofa.

There was a beat of silence.

"You hot-wired Preston's car?" Booth repeated in disbelief. "Who taught you how to hot-wire a car?"

Behind her mother, Zach looked at his sister and threw up his hands in defeat.

Christine pasted a thin smile on her face. "Max," she answered quietly and then waited for the explosion.

It wasn't long in coming.

"From the grave!" he yelled at Brennan. "From the grave he is still pissing me off!" Hands on hips, he faced his daughter. "Your grandfather taught you how to hot-wire a car?" he asked loudly. "When?"

"When I was twelve," she told him, flinching. "He said you never know when it might come in handy . . ."

"No!" Booth exclaimed. "No! There's no reason you should know how to-"

"Well, Booth," Brennan interjected, "it was certainly useful tonight."

"Bones-"

"Man," Parker laughed. "I missed all the fun. Max never taught me how to hot-wire a car!"

"Parker!"

"Dad-"

"Stop." Booth held up one hand. "Just stop." He rubbed his face with his hands and stared at the ceiling. "Okay, fine. Fine. I'll get Preston's car started again and take it to his house and - somehow - explain that my teenage daughter hot-wired it. Sure. No problem," he shrugged comically. "Bones, you can follow me so-"

"I'll follow you, Dad," Parker offered.

"No!" Christine yelped. "Parker, some photographer from TMZ is at the bottom of the driveway, you can't go out there. Dad," she grabbed his arm. "Look, can you just leave this alone right now? Please?" she pleaded. "I'll call Preston and tell him he can come pick up his car tomorrow, after everything's calmed down. He's afraid of you anyway so-"

"He should be afraid of me!" Booth announced. "When I get through with him-"

"Dad!" Christine tugged on his sleeve. "I took care of this, okay? I don't need you to go threatening him, all right? I took care of myself!" She stared at him stubbornly. "Promise me you'll leave him alone, Dad? Promise me!"

"Christine," Booth began.

"Dad! Promise me!" she insisted.

With obvious ill-grace, he finally gave in with a brusque nod. "But the next time I see him-"

"Deal!" she went on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "The next time you see him, you can lecture him until he's scared witless." With a relieved sigh, she headed toward the stairs again. "I'm going to take a shower and go to bed. God, what a night."

When the bedroom door closed behind her Parker looked at Zach. "Did Max teach you how to hot-wire a car, too?"

Zach caught his father's eye warily. "Yea. Sorry, Dad."

Booth glared at Brennan. "I told you we should never have let him babysit!"

Brennan frowned. "Actually, it was your idea to have my father babysit, Booth. If you remember . . ."

Parker ignored the familiar bickering. "Think you still know how?" At Zach's nod, he jerked his head toward the window. "Want to help me return the car?"

Zach grinned in excitement. "Absolutely. But what about TMZ?"

"Eh," he shrugged. "I haven't been on that website in a month. Can't have the fans thinking I've lost my edge, can I?" he smiled. "Dad!" he called out, cutting into the argument. "Zach and I are going to return ol' Pressie's car to him. I need a ride back."

Booth paused. "I promised Christine . . ."

"We didn't," Parker said smugly. "And we'll need a ride home. You in, old man?" he taunted good-naturedly.

Booth laughed. "Ha! Let's go. Wait . . ." His eyes narrowed on Zach. "Tomorrow, you are going to sit down and make a list of everything your grandfather taught you how to do. I want to know just how far my kids are into a life of crime."

"Everything?" Zach asked seriously as Booth grabbed his keys. "Are you sure you want to know everything?"

Booth reached for the door handle. "What, did he teach you 25 ways to kill without leaving a trace?" he scoffed.

"No," Zach answered glibly. "Mom had that one covered."

The door closed on Booth's smothered curse.

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><p><em>I think Booth is fighting a losing battle. :-)<br>_

_Thanks for reading!  
><em>


	5. What Goes Around

_**AN: I apologize in advance. :-D**_

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><p>"Hello, I'm home!"<p>

Brennan made the announcement as she entered the front door and smiled as Christine's giggles reached her from just feet away. Turning the corner she saw the little girl jump up from her seat on the floor next to Max.

"Look, Mommy!" She ran to Brennan with her arm outstretched, showing off a long white sock pulled up past her elbow. "I have a puppet!"

"I believe that's a -" The raspy sound of Max clearing his throat interrupted her correction. "It's a very nice puppet, Christine."

"Max made it for me! See?" The little girl pointed out the special details. "It has eyes and look!" The hand in the sock opened wide. "It has a tongue!" A red oval appeared in her palm.

"How did your appointment go, honey?" Max moved from the floor to a chair. "Everything alright?" He nodded toward the outline of her swollen midsection.

"Yes," Brennan nodded. "We are both fine. What's that?" She looked at the TV as Christine sat down again and began talking through her sock puppet to another one on the screen. "Christine is only allowed to watch TV for thirty minutes per day, Dad."

"Oh, that doesn't count." Max waved off her concerns. "It's Lamb Chop. Remember? You loved her."

Brennan's expression was skeptical as Charlie Horse appeared and began arguing with Lamb Chop and Shari Lewis. "I loved that?"

"Oh, yea." Max beamed as he relived old memories. "I made you a puppet, too." He started to laugh. "I used a tube sock that had red rings at the top and you made me cut them off. Your mother glued cotton balls to the top for the wool."

"I want cotton balls!" Christine stuck her sock-covered arm between them and spoke through her puppet.

"Sure, honey," Max tapped her nose. "You can have cotton balls, too."

Brennan was still frowning at the TV. "I enjoyed this show?"

"Yep. You would sing that song for hours." His voice took on a tone she couldn't quite place. "Every day. For hours."

"What song -"

Christine's clear, high voice began to sing along with the puppets as the credits rolled across the screen.

_This is a song for never ends_  
><em>It goes on my friends my friends<em>

Brennan's eyes grew round and horrified as a memory surfaced. "Dad . . ."

Max smiled broadly, stood up and kissed her cheek. "Time for me to go."

_. . . they'll sing it for never and because . . ._  
><em>This song it never ends . . .<em>

"Dad!"

"Don't forget to put cotton balls on the sock, honey. Tell Booth I said hello. See you later."

_. . . people were singing and knowing what was  
>They'll come in new singing for never just because . . .<em>

"Dad!"

_. . . this song it never ends . . ._

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><p><strong>You know what's great about having grandchildren? Payback. :-D<br>**

**Happy _Bones_-day and thanks for reading!**


	6. Blackjack and Monsters

_This is sort of a follow-up to _Roots and Wings, Chapter 80: The Best Laid Plans_ and sort of the result of a comment Brennan made at the beginning of last week's episode _The Master in the Slop._ It's not necessary to have seen or read either one, but if you di__d, you'll recognize the connection. _

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><p>.<p>

After one sharp rap, the handle turned and the front door opened.

"I heard someone was looking for a babysitter?"

"MAX!" Christine's high-pitched squeal echoed through the house along with her footsteps as she raced out of the kitchen toward her grandfather. "You're staying with us?"

Laughing, he knelt down to her level and gathered the little girl in a brisk bear hug. "Yes, I am. Is that okay with you, Slick?"

Brennan looked on the scene with a smile as she descended the stairs. Max straightened when she approached and offered his cheek for her kiss.

"Hi, honey."

"Thanks for coming on such short notice, Dad." She glanced toward Booth, who had followed Christine from the kitchen. "Are you sure we're not interrupting anything you had planned?"

"Nah." He shook his head and patted Christine's shoulder. "Nothing I couldn't put off to spend the day with my grandkids."

"Well, thank you again." Her head inclined toward the steps. "Zach just went down for his nap and Christine was eating lunch?"

Booth nodded at the question implied when Brennan caught his eye. "Just finished."

"Looks like your mom and dad didn't leave us anything to do but play." Max gave Christine's chin a playful tap. "That sound okay to you?"

The small head bobbed eagerly. "I have a new book - wanna see?" She raced back toward the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

"We won't be gone long," Brennan said, as Booth moved past her to pick up his keys from the table in the foyer. "A couple of hours, probably."

"Maybe three."

Brennan answered Booth's wink with a flirtatious grin before she turned to Max. "You can reach us on either of our cell phones if necessary. We're going to check into a hotel and have sex."

Booth's response was predictable. "Bones, you don't have to tell your dad that!"

"Why?" Brow furrowed, Brennan sent a frown at her husband. "I'm sure my father knows we have intercourse. We have two children after all, and we've certainly had sex more than twice -"

"Honey," Max barely held back his laughter. "Booth is right, it's really not necessary for me to know where you're going . . . or what you're going to do."

"Alright," she shrugged easily. "In any case, Christine has developed the idea that a monster is living in her bedroom," she explained. "I wanted to tell her there's no such thing but Booth feels it's more important that she knows she can come to us and her fears will be taken seriously . . . " Her eyes slid in his direction. " . . . even though that means we haven't slept alone for a week."

"Well," Max gave Booth a broad smile of approval. "Every little girl should have a daddy willing to slay monsters for her."

Christine returned then, book in hand, and Booth and Brennan took the opportunity to kiss her goodbye and make an embarrassingly hasty exit. Max pretended not to notice the wandering path of Booth's hand as he guided Brennan to the door with a touch at her lower back.

"So," he said instead to Christine as he led her to a seat on the sofa. "What do we have here?"

She pointed to the cover of the brightly illustrated book. "Ivy and Bean! This is Ivy, she always wears pink, and this one is Bean. She gets in a lot of trouble . . ."

Twenty minutes later, Max turned the last page of the book. Setting it aside on the coffee table, he looked down at the little girl next to him, tucked beneath his arm, and hugged her close.

"What's this I hear about a monster living in your room?"

The blue eyes so like her mother's flew to his. "It's in my closet. Daddy scares it away but it always comes back."

"Hmm." He nodded seriously. "How does it get in there?"

Christine's lower lip quivered. "I don't know."

Max patted her shoulder kindly. "Maybe I should take a look around?" he offered. "What do you think?"

She swiveled around on the sofa to face him. "Do you know about monsters?"

"Oh, yes," he said firmly. "I know all about monsters." He stood up and reached for her hand, and together they headed for the staircase. He put one finger to his lips in a shushing gesture as they crept up the steps to her room. "Let's not wake up Zach, okay?"

In her bedroom, Christine watched anxiously as Max carefully examined corners and window sills, picking up stuffed animals to look beneath them and peering into the glass bowls that held her frog, fish and turtle. Every so often, a faint "hmmmmm" would escape, and then he would move on to the next location.

Finally he knelt in front of her closet door and a few seconds later, his eyes began to twinkle. "A ha!" he announced triumphantly.

"What? What is it?" Christine danced over on the tiptoes of her bright purple sneakers and crouched down to join her grandfather. "What did you find?"

Max pointed to a small imperfection on the door frame, a tiny, perfectly round circle left by an air bubble in the white paint. "You have a monster hole."

Christine peered closely at the minute spot before she began to shake her head. "No, my monsters are big!"

"Well," her grandfather was prepared for that. "That's the thing about monsters, they're sneaky. They start small and get into these little holes, and then when they're in your closet they grow really big."

"They do?" She looked horrified.

"Mmm hmmm," Max nodded. "Remember those eggs with the little dinosaurs in them? Remember how big they got when you took them in the bathtub with you?"

"Oh." Christine's chin began to wobble again as she stared at the dot on the white wood. "I don't want a monster hole in my room!"

"Then we'll just get rid of it," Max announced. He stood up, ignoring the creaking in his knees, and reached for her hand. "Do you have any of your school glue here?"

"Uh huh." The darkening ponytail bobbed. "It's in Mommy's office downstairs. I have to ask before I use it."

"I think this qualifies as special circumstances." He led her out into the hallway and back to the stairs. "Mommy will understand."

When they returned to the pretty yellow bedroom several minutes later, Christine was clutching a small white bottle of glue in one hand and a magnifying glass Max had found in a pencil holder on Brennan's desk in the other. He put her to work studying the bottom of the door frame, chuckling at her excitement when she found two other small spots.

When Christine was reassured that no other monster holes dotted the door of her closet, Max unscrewed the bright orange cap on the glue and handed it back to her.

"Now, here's what you do . . ." He issued careful instructions on squeezing a dot of glue into each hole, effectively closing it up. Christine obeyed him to the letter and when all three circles held a drop of glue, smiled proudly at her grandfather.

"I did it! No more monsters?"

He shook his head. "No more monsters. If they don't have one of those tiny holes to squeeze through, they can't get into your closet."

Her smile dimmed as a thought crossed her mind. "So, I can't sleep in Mommy and Daddy's bed anymore?"

Max chuckled and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "If you want to pretend you see a monster every once in a while, I won't tell." A handshake sealed their new conspiracy. "Now, let's put everything back and play another game while the glue dries." He switched off the light as they left her bedroom. "Have you learned to count to 21 yet?"

.

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.

Almost four hours later, the front door opened again as Booth and Brennan arrived home, wrapped in a sated air of warm lethargy. Booth held Brennan's hand in one of his as with the other, he dropped his keys in the bowl.

"We're ba-"

Brennan's announcement was interrupted by Christine's voice in the dining room. "One more time!" The two of them headed in that direction . . . and came to an abrupt halt.

Christine was on her knees in a chair pulled close to the table, seated at an angle to Max who sat at the end with Zach in his lap. Spread out on the gleaming surface between them lay cards from a standard deck.

Booth dropped Brennan's hand. "What the -"

"Daddy!" Christine threw a bright smile over her shoulder. "Max taught me a new game! Come here, I'll show you!" She picked through the cards on the table, found the ace of spades and displayed it proudly. "This card is magic! It's a one if you get another card with a number but if you get a card with a picture, then you win!"

The haze of sexual satisfaction fell away immediately; a muscle leaped in Booth's jaw as he glared at Max. "You taught my five-year-old . . ."

"I'm five and a half," Christine interrupted quickly.

"Dad!" Brennan was aghast. "You should not have done this. How much money did you win from her?"

Max bounced Zach on his knee. "Me?" He bestowed a proud smile on his granddaughter. "I'll have you know she took me for twelve bucks!"

"Thirteen," Christine corrected him. "You said I won thirteen dollars."

The silver head inclined. "Thirteen." He gave Booth a wink, heedless of the other man's simmering anger. "You sure you haven't been teaching her? Slick here is a natural card sharp!"

Booth ran both hands across his face before he looked to the ceiling as if sending up a prayer for patience. "Max, so help me God . . ."

Sensing a good time to make his exit, Max pushed back from the table and stood up with Zach in his arms. He handed the small boy over to Brennan with a kiss for both of them. "Well, you two look nice and relaxed," he teased, "so I guess it's time I was going -"

"But where's my money?" Christine hopped down from her chair and came over to tug at Max's hand. "You said I was winning money."

Max laughed. "And you did! Grandpa's just a little short today so -"

Christine's expression turned faintly mulish. "But you said I was winning money," she repeated.

Booth folded his arms over his chest and looked at Max with the same expression as his daughter. "No markers in this house. Pay up, old man."

When Max turned to Brennan for help, she shrugged. "I hope you've learned your lesson, Dad."

Max gave in with good grace and reached for his wallet. "Oh, I did," he nodded as he fished out the appropriate amount of cash. "Never gamble with a Booth."

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><p><em>Thanks for reading!<br>_


	7. Generations

He saw them before he stepped outside, sitting side-by-side in the tree fort with their backs to the house, leaning against the open rails that made up the sides of the structure. Even with the width of the backyard between them, their dejection and sadness was obvious. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Max opened the door.

"Hey up there."

Zach's head swiveled as he looked over his shoulder and watched his grandfather cross the yard and stop beneath the tree. The sun was high overhead, casting the smallest of shadows on the lush green grass.

"Mind if I join you?"

The five-year old instinctively glanced at his sister. When she shrugged despondently, he turned back to Max. "Okay."

Max grimaced as he faced the line of boards affixed to the outside of the tree but when his head popped above the rough wooden floor, he was smiling. "Been a long time since I climbed a tree." He hauled himself somewhat clumsily inside as two tear-stained faces watched.

"Did you bring juice boxes?" Christine's chin rested on her hands, on the bony caps of the skinny knees revealed by the long cotton shorts she wore.

"No." Max looked from one child to the other as he folded himself into an uncomfortable seat on the hard surface. "Was I supposed to?"

"Daddy brings juice boxes." The mumbling explanation was barely audible as the little girl bent lower and toyed with the laces on her sneakers.

"Oh." Max studied his grandchildren, helpless in the face of their sorrow. "I can go back down and -"

Christine was already shaking her head. "I'm not thirsty."

"Me, either." Zach picked up a fallen leaf from the floor beside him and focused on it as he twirled it by the thin stem. "Did Mommy and Daddy leave?"

"Yea." Max reached across the gap and squeezed the little boy's denim-clad leg. "I'm sorry about Grandpa Hank," he said gruffly.

Chin trembling, Zach raised wet brown eyes. "Does Mommy have to look at his bones?"

The old rogue's heart splintered, at the question and at the answering sniffle from Christine. "No, sweetheart, they're just going up there to . . . to see him and take care of . . . what they have to take care of." He scooted closer so he could lay a comforting hand on both children. "Hank - well, they know how he died so Mommy won't have to look at his bones."

"Daddy said he just went to sleep." Zach looked at his grandfather for confirmation.

"He had a long life," Max replied carefully. "And he had a big heart and . . . he was tired, I think. It just stopped beating. It was his time."

"Daddy said we'd see him again in heaven." The small boy stared intently at Max.

"But when Annabelle died," Christine broke in, fresh tears growing at the mention of her beloved cat, "Mommy said there was no such thing as heaven. She said I should try to remember her like she was because she was gone forever."

Max hesitated, his gaze roving over both children. They looked back at him, miniature versions of Booth and Brennan, through eyes too wise for their young faces, with features softened by childhood and blurred by traces of each parent. His thoughts scrambled as he searched for words to ease the pain in their young hearts.

Finally, he settled on his own version of the truth. "I think they're both right."

It was Zach, predictably, who found the flaw in his argument. "They can't both be right. There's either a heaven or there isn't."

Max wedged himself between the two kids and, legs stretched out in front of him, draped an arm around each one. "That's the way it usually works but the truth is, Zach, nobody really knows for sure what happens next and since we don't know - and we can't know - the most important thing is that we find something to believe that makes us happy."

Eyes of blue and brown studied him carefully as he continued to speak.

"Your dad, he wants to believe that if you live a good life, if you're a good person while you're here, then something even better is waiting around the corner. And Tempe," he squeezed Christine close, "well, your mom believes that it's what we do right now that matters, because it's right now that matters. And they're both right," he said again, "because no one can prove that either one of them is wrong."

Zach face scrunched in thought as he considered his grandfather's words. "What do you think?"

"Me?" Max hugged both children tight and breathed deeply. "I think we live forever."

When they looked at him with surprise, he smiled and unfurled his arm from Zach's shoulders. "In here," he explained, with a touch of a finger at Christine's temple. "And right here." The same gentle touch landed on the little boy's t-shirt, above his heart.

They nestled closer into him as Max returned his arm to its place around Zach.

"You know, your grandmother Ruth? She's been gone for almost thirty years," he said, his voice as soft and comforting as his embrace, "but when I close my eyes, I can still see her, just like always." He smiled down at the dark heads burrowed against his chest. "I still talk to her every day, too."

"About what?" Christine didn't look up as she asked the question.

"Oh, about you two, mostly," he laughed. "And about your mom and dad. Uncle Russ and Aunt Amy, and Emma and Hayley, too. We have a lot to talk about."

Zach looked up then, one side of his mouth curling in a smile he'd inherited from his father. "Does she answer you?"

Max gave him a one-armed squeeze. "Sure she does. Usually when she thinks I'm doing something wrong."

They sat in silence for a moment as the wind rustled the leaves around them with a soothing whisper.

"The thing is," Max continued quietly, "talking to Ruth keeps her alive for me." His head dipped as he looked down at Zach. "One day, you'll be all grown up, and big like your daddy. And you'll have kids and you'll tell them about your Grandpa Hank and how he called you Jelly Bean." He grinned, even as his own eyes filled with the same tears that came to Zach's. "And they'll laugh, because they won't be able to imagine you little enough to be anyone's Jelly Bean. But you'll remember, and Grandpa Hank will be alive again for you."

Christine sniffed into his shirt when he pressed a kiss into her hair. "And you'll tell your kids all about an octopus princess named Olivia, and how she had a boyfriend named - what was his name again?"

"George." The answer came on a voice choked with tears.

"George, that's right." Max rested his chin on the top of her head and smiled. "You can tell them all about George and Princess Olivia and sharks going to the dentist and all of those sandcastles at the bottom of the ocean, and it will be just like your Grandpa Hank is there telling those stories with you."

Time passed as he held his daughter's children close while they dampened his shirt with their grief.

"That's what's important, all those memories you have and being able to share them later on. That's how we keep the people we love alive, so other people can love them, too."

After a few minutes, the weeping began to fade into sniffles and hiccups. He rubbed circles into their shoulders and patted them comfortingly.

"Max?"

"Hmm?" He tried not to wince as Christine wiped her nose on his shirt.

"What did Grandma Ruth look like? Was she pretty?"

"Oh." His silver head rested on one of the narrow boards of the wall behind him as he smiled up into the canopy of leaves, seeing Ruth's face again as he so often did, and shared his memories. "She was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. She was wearing a white sweater the first time I saw her . . ."

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><p><em>I'm going to miss Pops. I'll be 49 this upcoming birthday so I'm old enough to remember watching Ralph Waite on <em>The Waltons_. Thinking of that show reminds me of nights spent watching it with my own grandparents, too, which makes the memories even more special. _

_It makes me happy that a few chapters in _Roots & Wings_ leave Christine and Zach with their own memories of Hank. In the best of times, children should have wonderful memories of their grandparents. Even the pretend children of a pretend world. _

_Rest in peace, Ralph Waite and Pops. Thanks for the memories._

_Edited to add: Because the question came up in a review, the relevant R&W chapters are:  
><em>

_13: _You're Never Too Old_  
>31: <em>Family Traditions_  
>54: <em>Red is Not a Flavor_  
>and, 44: <em>What We Leave Behind, _because it passes Booth and Brennan's wedding rings, which were originally worn by Hank and Margaret, to a third generation of Booths._


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